Scarecrow On A Cross
by SlvrSoleAlchmst1
Summary: [Hinted shounen ai: Matt x Mello.] Matt is hit hard by Mello's plan to use their lives as fuel for ending the Kira case. What right does Mello have to ask him to die? But Matt's no fool. He knows he'll follow Mello to the grave, because he cares.


Matt was brushing off the dusty knees of his jeans when he detected the telltale clomp of boots on the fire escape. He'd been sitting on the ground too long – his legs were like jelly – and his hands were numb from the nighttime cold. Not exactly what Matt needed just then, to catch the hitch in Mello's breathing when the blonde spotted him, or to see those boots coming down those rusting stairs. First the boots, then two slender legs wrapped in leather, legs that extended from beneath narrow, bony hips. Matt gritted his teeth and stared harder at the denim fibers in his jeans, cursing his peripheral vision.

His hands weren't the only things that were cold. Matt's insides were frigid from the ice he felt piercing his gut. He wished with all his might that Mello would believe him suddenly deaf.

"Matt."

That voice. Commanding, crackling, static. Matt could sense the tension in Mello's tone, and he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to listen to Mello wrapping him tighter in the web that was Takada and delivery trucks and plots for Kira's defeat.

Mello had been on the phone with Hal a few hours earlier, and when he'd hung up, the cheer in the room had drained like whiskey from the bottle of a dead-beat drunkard. Matt had listened with a thin line for a mouth as Mello outlined the only option he thought they had after receiving Hal's news. Matt hadn't taken it terribly well, especially not when Mello had failed to hesitate, to _think_ about what he'd been suggesting. Hadn't even tried to look for another option, a way out that would let them stay together a while longer.

Hell, there wasn't much Matt cared about, but that didn't mean he'd throw his life away. As a last resort, maybe, but Mello had clammed right up, not bothering to explain why a suicide mission was so necessary. And Matt wanted answers. If he'd at least been given a reason - a better explanation of why the choice was paramount - perhaps Matt could breathe easy. Maybe it was his fault; he'd never been as quick as Mello or Near. Perhaps the ultimatum was plain and Matt was simply missing the obvious. But either way, Mello had asked him to give up his life for a cause he didn't understand.

Matt had wondered, then, if this life and their friendship had ever mattered to Mello at all.

"_Matt._"

Matt turned, suppressing the loathing he directed at himself for doing so. How completely whipped he was.

"What?"

Mello was glaring at the mound of spent cigarettes that huddled by the alley wall. "You've been smoking."

"Gee, what gave you the hint?" Matt hadn't meant to be sarcastic, but his defense mechanism was kicking in. Mello made him feel too exposed.

Mello snarled. "Don't get cute," he said, kicking fiercely at the ashy pile and scattering the remains of Matt's brood-fest. "I meant that you've been smoking _more than usual_."

Matt sighed and tucked his hands into the depths of his pockets. Mello was waiting for an explanation. Matt was waiting for an almighty thunderbolt to cause a distraction. And apparently, the deities in charge of such events were waiting for the magic incantation that Matt didn't have.

So Matt shrugged and shifted a hand to raise one side of his goggles in what he hoped was an indifferent gesture. "Shit happens," he volunteered.

At that, Mello promptly fumed. He paced the length of the alleyway, careful not to venture too close to the street side where passersby leaving the nightclubs might catch sight of him. Everyone was an enemy, and not even the batter–thick tension between he and Matt could cause the blonde to break from his routine of calculation.

Matt kept quiet. What had Mello expected? Mello had delivered Matt news of his inescapable death like some pitiless reaper, and Matt had gone off to collect his thoughts. Wasn't that what people _did_ once they'd been doomed to die? Run off and lament and regret and panic? Matt had been doing just that, only he'd been careful not to be as dramatic. Still, he was hardly ready to hold a decent conversation.

He let Mello prowl the borders of the dirty brick, crushing Matt's scattered cigarettes beneath his boots as he came across them in his fury. Mello's hands were nervous, shaky and pale as if he were bursting with too much adrenaline. The sight took a moment to register, and then Matt blinked back astonishment. Mello's fingers were white against the onyx of his outfit and gleaming like those of some preternatural phantom. Twitching. Seeking. And there was nothing for them to grasp.

Mello wasn't holding any chocolate.

"I thought you were fine with all of this. What the hell's got you so wired?" Matt asked, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut but unable to resist a stab at Mello just the same.

"You mean besides the fact that you and I just argued?" A thick rasp of bitterness from Mello's direction. "We fought for real this time, you idiot. It makes me _sick_."

Matt felt his brain short circuit. Impossible - he'd heard wrong. Mello was immovable, and Mello was ruthless and Mello was harsh, and there was no way that an argument with some redheaded city punk would twang Mello's strings the wrong way. Even if it _had_ been a grim dispute over life and death. So Matt opened his mouth to try again.

"Keep your trap _shut_," Mello shot before the words had left Matt's lips. "I hated fighting with you. And I don't want to do it again."

Mello's hands were balled into fists now - trembling, bone-white fists that looked as if they'd rocket off like cannonballs to purple Matt's face. But Mello's _voice_ was a shade lower. Mello's voice was husky and monotone and goddamn it, Matt was sure it even sounded apologetic just then.

"You only smoke this much when you're piss fucking livid," Mello observed, coming to a halt mere inches from Matt and breathing softly. "And I know it's my fault this time. Just get your ass back inside, because we have to leave before sunrise."

"And where are we going?" Matt inquired curtly. He didn't know how else to respond. Mello was acting strangely.

"To where Near is too afraid to go. To the source of the problem," Mello delivered, his lip curling as he watched Matt fumble for more nicotine. Matt searched his vest pockets and then all the others, though he knew he'd smoked everything he'd had in two hours flat. It'd been a stupid move. He should have saved a few, because now Mello was telling him they were hauling off, and chances they would stop to let Matt indulge himself at some corner store were slim.

"By this time tomorrow, I'll have kidnapped Takada and you'll have helped. So right now we need to move ourselves to a better location."

Mello's words sent shivers crawling over Matt's skin, and he got the feeling that soon they'd be walking the line between the dangerous and the downright suicidal for _real_. Matt wished he'd ignored that unknown phone call he'd gotten months ago. Maybe things would have been different if he'd simply let it ring. If he'd never picked up and heard the familiar snap of chocolate from the earpiece.

"You're involved in everything now," Mello growled, seeing through Matt like he was the stained glass of some church window. Matt could try to camouflage himself behind layers of dazzling color, but in the end, he was still sheer and breakable and clear as glass to Mello. "You're in this with me whether you like it or not, Matt."

Mello was a lot less cute without his chocolate. A lot less cute when he was slapping Matt around like some renegade canine. Less cute when he was staring Matt down and refusing to give him a choice, and Matt was getting ticked off again.

"What if this is too reckless, Mello?" Matt asked, taking the stairs up to their rented hotel room two at a time while Mello followed. "What if nothing works like you think it will, and Kira goes free? According to you, Near's a dumb fuck, so how do we know he'll be able to work off what you leave behind?"

Matt ambled through their messy pit, tossing aside stray candy wrappers and stinking, rumpled clothes until he found an item that was his. He placed it to one side, to be stuffed hurriedly into his bag.

Wasn't that always the way. Be ready to fly when the shit hit the fan, check behind you, and run like hell. Don't get caught. A part of Matt wanted to ask why he was bothering this time, because he knew he wouldn't need clothes or personal items if he were dead. But it was habit. Habit, like his smoking and Mello's chocolate addiction. Perhaps he even took comfort in it.

At once, Matt was aware that Mello was not packing beside him.

"Mello?" He turned, hearing the clang of boots on metal outside the open window.

Mello was still outside on the fire escape, leaning over the railing until his hair fell like straw across his eyes. A sinewy, scowling scarecrow – that was what Mello resembled. Any bird that chose to fly over the city that night would reel in terror and careen into a windowsill. Such was Mello, Matt concluded. He stepped out into the darkness and swept the blonde up in his arms.

Mello let out a shudder. "Matt…"

Matt barely acknowledged his own name; he curled around Mello from behind and held tight. He was too entranced by the feel of Mello's slight body against his, too cowed by Mello's sudden calm to respond with anything other than a measured sigh.

"What the hell are you thinking, Mello?" Matt let his fingers roam through Mello's scraggly locks, parting the fine strands and running over his scalp in a manner that Matt hoped Mello didn't find too intrusive. "What makes you think that this way is the only way to end the case?"

Mello didn't answer. He let Matt hold him.

Matt knew Mello was somewhere far away, lost in his own thoughts. He couldn't feel the warmth that came from Matt's figure when Matt buried his face in Mello's hair and held on. Couldn't feel Matt's desperation or his doubt. Mello would go to hell and back to dole out justice to Kira, whether he stopped to give explanations or not, and Matt… Matt would follow him at all costs, wouldn't he?

Suddenly Matt's breath froze in his lungs. He'd follow Mello, because he cared about Mello. He didn't want to die, but in the end, Matt knew Mello was worth it. Worth the sacrifice. Worth the agony and wasted years.

Matt didn't _need_ to understand why Mello was asking him to partake in his death plan, because the simple strength that came from loving Mello was enough to banish any doubt. The realization made his chest ache, and Matt knew he had hit some sort of pinnacle then, hugging Mello there in the dark. It was too late to turn back - so long as his feelings for Mello prevailed, he'd tail the blonde to the grave.

So goes karma, Matt decided with a heart that twinged from the weight of destiny.

Matt let Mello go. He moved to one side, leaning over the edge next to Mello so he could see the expanse of lights that glittered in the dark. Serene and distant, like a photograph.

"Let's do this right, and give all of Wammy's something to think about," he said.

Mello hardly blinked. "Regretting that we're going to miss the reunion? Don't tell me – prissy little miss pigtails."

Matt waved a hand in dismissal. "Nah. I doubt she'd even be a good fuck. And I wouldn't have gone to the reunion regardless."

"Then it's Roger you were thinking about."

A noncommittal grunt. "I might miss the geezer. Would have liked to see him one more time. Maybe beat the information about who L chose out of him, because you know there's no way L _really_ failed to make a decision. He was too smart to neglect something that important, especially when he knew he might die on the Kira case." Matt heard the railing creak and turned to see Mello straightening with a face like a sociopath.

"You mean you think we were lied to? Why – to trick me into siding with Near in the end?" Mello's shrill tone suggested it was best to duck and cover. But Matt didn't feel much like moving.

"Who knows?" he said.

"Arrgh! Fuck you." But it wasn't worth pursuing, not anymore. The fight drained out of Mello slowly; he seemed to relax muscle by muscle, and their remaining time ticked on in silence. White fingers curled absently around rosary beads.

Matt snickered. "Want me to tell them to pin our bodies up on crosses?"

"I thought you didn't believe in God, Matt."

"We'll just make _you_ the martyr, then."

Mello's fist slammed like a block of lead onto the flimsy iron railing and he gritted his teeth. "_No one's going to care once we're gone_, you fool."

"Well… we'll never know now, will we?" And much to his steely chagrin, Matt's voice cracked.

Mello fixed his eyes on the skyline again, but this time he reached over and took one of Matt's gloved hands in his. Matt's gaze snapped up to view the thin line of the blonde's mouth.

"No. No, Mail Jeevas. We'll never know."

_A/N: Siigh. This story gave me so much shit. It was going all sorts of places, but finally I cut off a huge chunk and tried to finish it the best I could. I've still got more ideas, so pretty soon this fic'll probably have a sister piece, but… I hope this one didn't disappoint TOO badly. And methinks my lovely beta is back from being MIA, so when that's all set I'll likely post a cleaner version.._


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